Gifts and Wrappings
by Quiet2885
Summary: As a present to Christine, Erik reveals his special 'mask’ of normalcy earlier in the story. Shameless EC Holiday Fluff. Primarily Kay and Leroux. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Here's my bit of E/C holiday fluff. As a present to Christine, Erik reveals his 'mask' of normalcy earlier in the story. **There will be four chapters. **

Please don't look for this to be one hundred percent loyal to any version of POTO. It takes place before the Masquerade Ball and is both mostly Kay and Leroux-based. There is, however, a larger gap between the time Erik released Christine after the fortnight and the Masquerade Ball. The timeline isn't quite accurate. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! And remember, it's just a bit of fluff for the holidays.

Disclaimer: I do not own _The Phantom of the Opera_ or any of its characters. All belongs to Gaston Leroux.

**Happy Holidays! **

Christine was nervous.

Erik had instructed her to wait in the drawing room until he returned. Before disappearing, he had stated that he had an early gift for her and would be back within several minutes. She now sat upon the sofa, anxiously wringing her hands together and wondering with both curiosity and fear what sort of gift he would produce.

On several occasions, Erik had clearly expressed his disdain for all holidays. She did not imagine him regularly giving Christmas presents. Although the only time that she had seen him dangerously angry was when she'd torn the mask from his face, Christine was never quite sure what to expect in that strange underground home.

Perhaps he would emerge with an odd foreign trinket of some kind. He had a variety of ceramic figurines and animals that looked as though they had come from different countries. Some, such as the tropical birds, were exotically beautiful, while others bordered on being grotesque. Maybe he would give her one of the more pleasing ones.

"Christine." She hadn't even heard him come in behind her; his footsteps were nearly silent. Christine turned around to look up at him, nearly jumping up from the sofa in utter shock as her eyes met with his face. Had the familiar tenor voice not come from the figure in front of her, she would have cried out, "_Who are you?"_ Her mouth momentarily hung open. "Does it please you?" Erik enquired. "I have been designing it for some time. All for you, Christine. A gift. So that you may be proud to be with Erik."

"I…" she momentarily stuttered, unable to tear her eyes away from his face. He was wearing a mask, but it was not the normal black piece of porcelain that concealed his entire profile. This one was designed to look like an actual human face, with a prominent nose and painted mouth. The cheeks were full and tinted red, a contrast to Erik's sallow, protruding cheekbones. He had painted the rest of the mask light enough to match the grayish tint of his flesh, while still giving it the appearance of a handsome face. Only his yellow eyes were real, and she could see them glimmer from beneath the eyeholes.

"Do you like it?" he eagerly asked, daring to walk closer to her with his arms outstretched.

Honestly, she didn't know what to say. And so Christine did what she had become accustomed to doing when it came to poor Erik. Just as she had done when she'd told him that his face didn't bother her, Christine lied. "Yes, Erik. It is very nice. It looks almost real!"

"Almost?"

"Oh. Well, it does look real, Erik. I could not even tell the difference." Honestly, the mask was not perfect. The human face is so full of tiny muscles that subtly twitch and stretch to form thousands of expressions. Even as skilled as Erik was, he could not mimic the movements within his design. There was also an unnatural shine to it in the lamplight of the room. Only from a distance and in poor lighting would the mask appear to be real flesh.

Her heart wrenched when she saw his eyes light up. Truthfully, the mask disturbed her on some level, but Erik was just simply so delighted by it.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, cautiously coming even closer. "And it can be real, as far as others are concerned." She merely bobbed her head up and down in agreement. "You will take a walk with me this evening?" he eagerly asked. "It is darker now. No one will tell the difference. They will say 'There walks Christine with an ordinary gentleman!'" Perhaps he noticed the uncertainty on her face. "Only if you wish to, of course. We may remain here and sing instead, if that pleases you."

She managed a smile, despite the queasiness in her stomach. It was always good to get out for a while, to go aboveground. Her visits to Erik often deprived her of the opportunity. "No, Erik. I will go out with you. Let me fetch my cloak and gloves."

As soon as she was dressed warmly enough for Erik's liking, they walked down the familiar path by the lake and out the side entrance. The only previous times she had gone out with him were during the carriage rides, and she wondered if he had planned for another one. No brougham awaited them this time, though. Instead, they freely turned the corner and ventured down the Parisian cobblestone streets, soon blending in with the crowds of people. She watched wide-eyed as a group of young boys rushed by, throwing snowballs at one another. Well-dressed men and women gathered outside the entrances of the finer stores, gossiping over holiday galas and gifts. Couples walked together, admiring the displays in the shop windows. There was something so normal about it all that she nearly forgot in whose company she was.

They silently walked forward. Christine hesitantly side-glanced Erik. Indeed, with such little lighting, the mask appeared real. Erik had also put a pair of black gloves on, thereby concealing his white, bony hands and fingers. Still, he seemed intent on staying invisible, sticking to the shadows of the buildings as much as possible. Every so often, he would glance down upon her with nothing less than adoration, all the while keeping a distance between them. "Is there a place you would like to go?" he finally asked her. "I shall buy you whatever you wish."

"No, thank you," she quickly replied. He had already lavished so many gifts upon her, from dresses to hair pieces to jewelry. She had accepted it all with guilt. "I really do not need a thing. I am happy just to be out."

"If you are very sure."

She began to relax somewhat as they walked forward, taking in the sights and sounds of the approaching holiday season. She was even able to almost forget her present situation. "Erik?" she asked after a moment, noticing that he was still at unease. "Did you ever go out before now?"

"Yes," he clipped. "Of course. During the evenings, I often shop for my necessities. I would trust no one else to make certain purchases. I go when few people are about." He paused. "But you would not wish to accompany me during those time, lest you want to receive unwanted attention." Erik fondly looked down upon her. "No. This is much better. You see how they pass by us without a glance, Christine?"

She watched as people strolled by, a collection of colorful hoop skirts and black top hats. Excited children with flushed faces pointed at store windows and bakeries. "Yes. No one notices us." Everyone was so involved with their own affairs, though, that she didn't think they would have noticed if Erik was wearing the black mask. Still, she said nothing. Saying nothing was often better when it came to Erik. She relaxed again as they continued walking.

"Are you sure you do not wish for a necklace?"

"No, Erik. Please. I am fine."

Finally, Erik stopped trying to purchase a gift for her on every occasion that she glanced in a store window. He instead talked of some of the architecture in the city, knowing enough to make her guess that he had been in Paris for some time. He talked of the operas he expected for the spring. It was still all rather odd to her. She was being forced to accept this false normalcy, all the while knowing that there was wrongness in it. Still, Erik had such hope in his eyes as he continued on about trivial matters, telling her what roles she would be perfect for in future performances. A calmness finally descended over her, a sort of inner warmth. She would at least give him this night, before deciding whether to tell him that the mask bothered her. _Before telling him anything…_

As they turned a corner onto a street with several more expensive restaurants, Christine suddenly heard a familiar voice. Her heart skipped a beat, and every muscle tensed. _Please, no._ Indeed it was Raoul, standing on a corner with his older brother, perhaps waiting for a carriage. There was no doubt that both brothers were kept busy during this time of year, although Raoul looked less than happy to be there. She prayed that he did not see her that night. Her prayers went unheard.

As soon as he noticed her beneath the streetlamp, Raoul began to rush over, ignoring the calls of Philippe. Christine glanced up nervously. From the eerie glow in Erik's eyes, she knew that he had seen her friend as well. Her heart nearly stopped. The only consolation was the large number of people gathered around them. She waited for Erik to grab her by the arm and disappear with her, but he merely continued to stand there in the shadows. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Christine!" Raoul took a very quick, disinterested glance at Erik, before looking back toward her. "What are you doing here? I have been searching for you. Are you well?"

"Just going for an evening walk, Raoul," she practically choked out.

He frowned. "An evening walk? You tell me there is no one who holds your heart, and yet you walk out late with a gentleman caller. All I ask is honesty from you."

"What I do is none of your business," she shakily replied, every part of her wrought with tension. _It is better that you hate me than attempt to fight for me, dear friend. I fear you would win no fight. _"Do not make demands of me."

"I do not make demands of you!" he exclaimed, genuine pain evident in his pretty blue eyes. "I simply wish to know the truth, so that I do not make a fool of myself. You know how I feel for you. You know of my love and devotion for you. But if your heart belongs to another, then my pursuit is meaningless."

Erik remained unnervingly silent during the entire exchange, his arms folded against his thin chest as he awaited her response. What choice did she honestly have? "I am with another, as you can see," she softly replied. "It is true."

Her old friend curtly nodded. "So it is settled, then. I wish you all the happiness in the world, Christine. Have a good evening." With his head held high, Raoul stalked off through the snow, but she saw his shoulders slump in defeat once he was at a distance.

Dear Raoul. What he must think of her…Still, she had the feeling that he was not quite ready to give up the chase.

Christine swallowed, nervously awaiting Erik's response to the situation. Was he furious? Would he never allow her aboveground again? To her utmost surprise, Erik unfolded his arms and began to laugh. "It is all better than I could have imagined!" he exclaimed, causing her to draw back slightly. "Ah, the boy will bother you no longer now that he has seen you with an _ordinary_ man." He continued to chuckle. "Did you see the look on his face? I will worry of him no more. How convenient! We could not have come out at a better time, my dear."

Christine felt as though she might faint with relief. Her childhood friend had no idea how close he often came to catastrophe. What if Raoul really did never wish to see her again, though? That thought made her nervous. She had already written Raoul a letter, asking him to meet her at the masked ball this New Year's Eve. Feeling like a prisoner in that underground kingdom, she had been desperate for some sort of contact with the outside world. Would she still deliver it? A heavy feeling of exhaustion descended upon her.

"Are you well, my dear?" enquired Erik. There was a note of suspicion in his voice. "You look a bit ill. Did that boy upset you?"

"No!" She swallowed and smiled. "No. I am fine, Erik. Just a bit tired." She glanced up at the sound of harmonized voices drifting over from a nearby church. "Look!" she softly exclaimed, grateful for the distraction. "Carolers!"

He glanced in the indicated direction. "They are severely off key," he stated with good humor. "You could sing circles around them."

"Oh, Erik," she began with a light laugh. "I doubt that I could."

"You easily could, my dear." Feeling the mood lighten again, she walked forward with him. "Perhaps we should return before it become too cold. The shops are beginning to close. You are sure you do not wish for any small thing? I know how fond women are of trinkets."

"No. I am fine." She forced herself to forget her troubles and enjoy the city, not wanting him to sense her tension. "Thank you for taking me out," she softly stated, as they returned in the direction that they came. Their shoulders brushed as they turned around, and she saw him nearly shudder at the contact.

His eyes lit up. "Of course. We will be able to do it often now. Any evening that you wish!"

She nodded and smiled, allowing him to take her back inside the walls of the opera house. It was only when they were back in his underground home, with the mask in clear view under the light, that she became troubled again. That inflexible face stared at her with a fixed expression. She had enjoyed the walk; there was no denying that. She had enjoyed their conversation and the sights and sounds of the city. There had been warmth in her heart that night. And perhaps it all would not have been possible without that strange mask. Still, it bothered her for a reason that she could not define yet.

"A song before you go to bed?" enquired Erik, beginning to walk toward the organ.

She hesitated. "I fear that I am exhausted tonight."

He nodded, although his shoulders drooped slightly. "I see. Tomorrow, perhaps. You will sing tomorrow."

She quickly nodded, before rushing off to the Louis-Philippe room and closing the door. The false face remained in her mind all night.


	2. Chapter 2

Okay. Quiet2885 lied. There will be four chapters. I got into this story a little bit more than I originally planned. For those waiting for "When All is Lost," I'm working on that, too. As I'm going on a short vacation soon, I'm not going to make update promises for either story. There should hopefully be updates for both stories by the first week in January. Thanks for all of your feedback, guys. It keeps me writing.

**Read and Review! Happy Holidays!**

What was it about the mask that disturbed her so much? Was it knowing of the horror that it concealed? No. The black porcelain hid his death's head but did not upset her. Was it simply the artificiality? She wasn't sure. Still, she did not like that mask. Erik's actual face was dreadful, but at least it was real.

To her dismay, he had the realistic mask on from the moment that she opened her bedroom door. She kept her eyes away from his face as he served her breakfast, attempting to hide her frown. "I think that I will design a workable mouth," he stated, placing slices of ham and fruit upon the table. "I will be able to dine with you that way." He stepped back and admired the layout. "Is everything to your liking?"

"I…" She swallowed. "Yes, Erik. I am fine. Thank you." She began to eat while he silently watched. The two lips on the mask were pressed together and drawn inwards; the somber expression didn't really match the excited glow in his yellow eyes. A pair of calm brown or green eyes would have been more appropriate. After a few bites of ham, she grew full and set her fork down with a soft clink.

"Is something wrong?" he immediately enquired. "Is there too much salt? Erik has a habit of flavoring food very strongly for himself; otherwise, he is not able to taste it at all. Let me get you something else. Melon, perhaps?"

"No, Erik." She shook her head. "I am just not very hungry this morning. I am sorry."

"Oh." He collected her plate with a swoop of his skeletal hand. "You really should eat more, my dear, especially during the winter. We do not want you to become ill."

"I know. I will later." She tiredly placed a hand to her forehead.

After setting her plate down, she saw him discreetly run his fingers over his face, as though to ensure that the mask was still there. He was so terribly happy about his creation, so very excited. "If you are not hungry, we could begin with a song this morning. Perhaps an aria from _Ascanio in Alba_. Would you like that, Christine?"

She nodded and stood. "Yes. Very well." He continued to speak as he led her back to the organ, but her mind was elsewhere. She would go mad from this unless she either said something or figured out why she felt this way.

He pushed his own scribbles of music aside and turned to look up at her with his hands over the keys. That false face was staring at her; those two eyes were pleading with her. "I will begin when you are ready."

She could not stand it any longer. "Erik?" she began, gnawing at her lip.

"Yes, Christine?" he eagerly asked. "Do you need something?"

"I…" She quickly composed herself. "I do not wish you to wear that mask any longer."

"_What?_"

The dismay in the two yellow eyes stung her heart. Still, she continued forward. "I prefer the black one, if you are going to wear a mask. Or any other mask, really. That one…is just very unpleasant to me. I am sorry."

"I see." He turned his back to her and was very quiet for a long, horrible moment. She waited, nearly hating herself and wishing that she could fix this entire mess. He finally unpeeled the mask from his face and stared down at it. "Yes," he stated with resignation. "I suppose it is no good pretending once you are aware of what lies beneath. It is a pity that I could not have worn it for you before you ripped my other mask away. You might have believed this to be Erik's real face. And then you _never_ would have known."

"No," she said with gentleness. "I think that I still would have known it was a mask. But I have told you many times that I do not care about your face."

"Yes. You shiver only at the splendor of my genius." She cringed as he repeated her own words back to her. "Your lies are very beautiful, Christine. And Erik loves you even more for them."

"Oh, Erik." Christine sighed. He was less ignorant than she had believed. He was still staring down upon the mask, his emaciated shoulders rising and falling with each slow breath. "I really did enjoy our walk," she continued after a moment. Erik turned his head slightly, careful to still keep his face from her view. "But not because no one looked at us. It was wonderful to go out. The city is lovely this time of year."

"You do not understand. Oh, but of course you would not! It is not so pleasant to go out with eyes constantly upon you, with whispers all around. And I would not subject you to that. But this mask, Christine, this mask shields you from that. In the evenings, no soul can tell that it is not real. It was for you."

"I…I suppose I do not understand," she murmured. _I understand nothing these days._

He didn't seem to hear her, was almost speaking to himself. "It would be nice to have my own flat someday," Erik continued. "With neighbors that did not stare. An ordinary home for an ordinary man. And his ordin-No. You, of course, are not ordinary. Not at all."

She looked at the floor with shame. "No, Erik. I fear that I am very ordinary." _I am worse than ordinary. I am deceitful._

"No. You are not ordinary. You come visit me in my little home. You come to see your Erik quite often. You are very good to do so. To come here, away from all else." He paused. "But with the mask that looks like everybody else, you would not have to come down here as often."

Tears were gathering at the corners of her eyes. Christine didn't know what to say. Although she wished to console him, she was afraid that another lie would emerge from her lips. Frankly, she didn't even know what the truth was anymore. And so she kept silent, allowing him to wallow in his unreachable dreams.

Erik sighed and ran his fingers over the keys of the organ. "You are wanting to leave, I imagine. If I release you for the next few days, do you vow not to spend your holiday with _him_?"

"Yes," she replied in earnest. Raoul was probably still too angry to even want to see her. "I will spend it with my guardian. She has been ill."

He nodded. "Very well. I will take you to the surface."

"What will you do, Erik? For the holiday?"

"Remain here," he curtly replied. "Unless that Persian fool attempts to bother me again, and then I will spend my time ridding my home of him." Erik wryly chuckled.

She sadly smiled, still knowing very little of Erik's strange friend. "Perhaps it would be nice to have a guest, though."

"No," he clipped. "I prefer to be alone, especially when my sole choice of company is that irritating busybody." Erik abruptly stood up from the seat. Keeping his face turned from her, he walked toward a drawer and pulled out the familiar black piece of porcelain. After silently putting it on and tossing the realistic mask aside, he began to walk back toward the drawing room. "Come. We will return you before too many people are walking about upstairs. The last problem that we need are rumors of you appearing from nowhere." He gathered his hat and cloak.

She followed behind him without protest, all the while wishing that she could offer him words of solace. Still, wasn't it cruel to offer hope if there was none? Were beautiful lies better than the truth? She stared down at her reflection in the dark lake as Erik silently rowed them forward within the boat, not really liking what she saw. The lack of sunlight was making her pale. The lack of sleep was giving her rings around her eyes. Or maybe she had always looked that way.

Erik took her up the spiral stairs and to the mirror of her dressing room, his yellow eyes dim and devoid of the excitement of earlier. "I will see you in four days," he stated, opening the plate of glass for her entrance. "Rest soundly, for we will begin preparations for your upcoming performances." He turned to leave.

"Erik." She placed a shaking hand upon his shoulder. He froze and tilted his head back, a soft moan audible from behind the mask. "Have a Merry Christmas."

He nodded once, and she withdrew her hand. Once Erik had disappeared into the darkness, she entered her dressing room and immediately collapsed into a cushioned chair. A feeling of exhaustion overwhelmed her, of grief and confusion. After a moment, she arose and quickly began to gather the few possessions that she wished to take home with her. There were several combs and hair ribbons that she wanted to wear over the holidays. Perhaps Mamma Valerius would be well enough to go out for a few hours, at least to go to Mass.

With a swallow, Christine glanced at the mirror. She couldn't sense his presence or feel his eyes upon her. "Erik?" She said his name once. There was no answer. She proceeded to open one of the drawers of the dressing room table and remove a folded piece of paper. It was her note to Raoul, requesting that he meet her at the masked ball. Her absence from Erik would be the opportune time to get it delivered. With a sigh, she tucked it into the pocket of her skirts and then quickly left the dressing room.

She was grateful to see that few others were around that morning, for she didn't want to have to answer any questions or listen to any gossip from the ballet dancers. Her disappearances were starting to make her an object of curiosity, likely partly due to Raoul's constant questioning in his attempts to find out where she was. Once she had left the building and located a cab to take her to Mamma Valerius' flat, she was finally able to relax.

As the horses trotted forward with the carriage in tow, her thoughts drifted to Erik. If she hadn't asked him to remove that mask, would he have requested her to stay for the holidays? He was now likely down in the cellars by himself, engrossed in his eerie music. Christine suddenly realized that she'd never even questioned whether Erik wanted to live down there. After seeing his gruesome face, she'd simply accepted that belowground was the only place he could be. A bat must live in a cave, mustn't it? In her mind, she had exiled him to living in the cellars.

It had also been of comfort to condemn him to the sewers, particularly on the occasions when she was frightened out of her wits. If Erik had to stay below ground, then there was a way to escape him. She had even contemplated places to hide with Raoul. The rooftop of the opera house had come to mind, beneath the gaze of Apollo and the farthest possible point from Erik's world. Surely, he would not go where daylight could so easily reach.

But with this realistic mask, with this drive toward normalcy and a life aboveground, Erik could go anywhere that she could. This strange mask had given him some great hope to escape the cellars. And perhaps she knew that the mask alone would not suffice, would not fulfill his desires. He would also want her. She was central to his plan. That had frightened her, and so she had cruelly crushed his hopes.

But why shouldn't Erik be allowed out into the daylight? He had walked with her down the streets of Paris like an ordinary man. There had been nothing strange about their walk. In fact, she had enjoyed it, would have gladly gone again. That morning, though, she had ruined it all for him, and now she felt horrible. Why did she feel so completely wretched?

She then realized that, on some level, she had truly come to care for him. She lied not only because she feared him, but because she didn't want to hurt him.

Christine finally arrived at the flat and set her belongings down inside. The smells of pinewood and cinnamon potpourri greeted her, and she found herself grateful to be in a warm and familiar setting. From the spices and bottles that had been set out in the kitchen, it looked as though Mamma Valerius had been on her feet at least a little. She quickly went into the bedroom to see her guardian lying on the bed, a piece of unfinished knitting tossed to the side. With her arthritis, the craft was becoming nearly impossible.

"I thought I heard someone come in," said her guardian with a tired smile.

"Yes. I am here," replied Christine. "I am sorry that I have been gone so often. How are you feeling?"

"Fine for a woman of my age," she said with a cheerful tone. "But what of you, dear? You look tired. Are you working too hard?"

"No. I just did not sleep well last night." She quickly changed the subject. "Is there anything that I can get for you? Have you eaten?"

Even at her old age, Mamma Valerius was too sharp for that. "I am positively fine, Christine. Now please sit down and talk to me. You look so weary, child."

With a sigh, she obediently sat down in a chair next to the bed. "Oh, Mamma. I do not even know where to begin." She looked down at her hands. "Often, I just wish to go off and get married to an ordinary man. To forget singing and all of this. Is that so wrong? To not have to worry or think on difficult matters any longer?"

"No," her guardian gently replied, squeezing her hand. "It is not wrong. All young girls want such things. Heaven knows, I did. Is there someone in particular?"

"There is dear Raoul, although his status makes it difficult."

"Ah!" said her guardian with approval. "Yes. Ever since he was a boy, he has been good and kind. And he certainly seems to have an interest in you with his visits here, always asking where you have gone off to."

"But sometimes I do not want that," continued Christine. "Sometimes I feel differently. I want my music. I want to help and care for someone else. I want more…" She paused. "But I do not think that I am strong enough. Here I am, hiding away and crying to you."

Mamma Valerius laughed. "You are too hard on yourself, child. Who has taken care of me in my decrepit state for these last several years? Who made her way through the conservatory to become a grand singer at the opera house?"

"I would have become nothing if not for him," she murmured, casting her eyes downward. "He gave me too much."

Her guardian patted her hand. "What else troubles you, dear? You look as though you are in pain."

"I have hurt people," she stated with a sigh. "Often, I feel as though I have no choice but to lie. And people are always hurt by my words."

"I am sure that your heart was in the right place. And perhaps you truly did not have a choice. But you are right. It is best to make a decision and be honest with others. Even if it is difficult, it will be better for everyone in the end."

Christine nodded. As she shifted atop the chair, she felt the folded note in her pocket. "Oh." She pulled the piece of paper out. "I forgot to get this delivered to Raoul."

"If you need to go, then by all means go. I am fine here. Do not worry your young head about me."

Christine slowly stood and smoothed out her ruffled skirts. "I will return soon. At least, I think that I will." She looked toward the letter again. "I am not for certain."

Mamma Valerius nodded. "Do whatever you must do, Christine. I will be fine."


	3. Chapter 3

Okay. You guys are going to hate me. **Four chapters**. I'm sorry. I swear that the next one will be the last. It's already pretty much written. I just really don't want to rush this story. But I think you'll find this chapter enjoyable, anyway.

**Read and Review!!!**

Flurries were beginning to drift down from the sky as Christine reluctantly left the warmth of Mamma Valerius' flat. They lightly brushed against her nose and fell into her blonde hair, and she brushed one small flake away as it landed in her eyelash. If she was going to get that note delivered, she had better do it before the snow became worse. A part of her wished to return to the safety of her guardian's bedside, and yet she trudged forward, determined not to stall any longer.

Hugging her arms against her chest for warmth, she finally found another cab and gratefully climbed inside. "Where do you wish to go, Mademoiselle?" enquired the elderly driver, his eyes trailing over her disheveled appearance.

"To the Opera Garnier," she automatically replied. She was somewhat surprised when the words left her mouth. Settling down into the velvety seat, though, Christine decided that the opera house was an ideal place to find someone who would know the de Chagny family. Even the managers were acquainted with Philippe.

She folded her gloved hands together in her lap and attempted to keep from nervously fidgeting, staring out the window at the passing groups of people. Another layer of snow was beginning to accumulate upon the ground, much to the delight of the smiling children outside. She felt a bit distant from all of the holiday merriment, caught up in her own thoughts and worries. A father and his young daughter walked by hand-in-hand, and she was briefly reminded of her own carefree youth.

What would she say to Raoul when she met with him? Would she tell him of all that had occurred within these last several months? Her friend would certainly be both worried and furious. He might even want to fetch the police, although she would quickly quash that idea. His second plan would be to take her far away, to a place where Erik could not reach her, although Christine doubted that such a place even existed. And, honestly, she didn't even know if she was capable of abandoning poor, unhappy Erik. Her heart ached with the thought of him alone in the dark and damp cellars, with his assortment of empty-eyed masks as the closest thing left to company. And once Erik found out…well…she didn't even want to imagine what he might do.

If she didn't tell Raoul the truth, though, she would be doing nothing but feeding him more lies about her recent absences. And what good would that do?

The letter seemed heavier within her pocket.

The ride to the opera house passed quickly, or perhaps it was simply her anxiety that made the minutes go by in a matter of seconds. The Paris Opera House loomed upwards against the grey sky, from the stone pillars that supported the bottom to the golden lyre clasped in Apollo's hands at the very top. Slowly, she climbed down from the carriage and began to make her way to the front doors. Hearing the sound of male voices further down the road, she looked up again. There stood Philippe de Chagny, conversing with a group of three other well-dressed men. He was often there in search of Sorelli; perhaps he had come to take her with him for the holidays. An awaiting carriage stood several meters away from him, the driver waiting up front. A manservant also stood nearby, his arms folded as he leaned against the carriage with a bored expression.

Although Raoul's brother was likely less than fond of her, she could ask one of the servants to deliver the note. Inhaling deeply, she began to walk toward them, feeling an unpleasant sensation begin to grow in the pit of her stomach. Her trembling hand gripped the piece of paper tightly. By the time she arrived at the de Chagny carriage, she could barely speak.

"Can I help you, Mademoiselle?" asked the driver with a tip of his hat. "Are you lost?"

"I…" She paused and looked down at the now crumpled paper in her hand. And she realized that she had never come there to deliver that note. "Do you have the time?"

He looked at his silver pocket watch. "It is just past one."

"Thank you, Monsieur," she murmured, her face flushing. "Have a good afternoon." With the note still in her hand, she abruptly turned around and left. The feeling of dread in her stomach began to dissipate and was replaced by one of uncertainty. Christine made her way up the steps and to the doors of the opera house. Before entering, she took the note into both hands and began tearing it into tiny pieces. Seeing no dustbin, she stuffed the shreds into the pocket of her dress, hiding all evidence that the letter had ever existed.

From the enormous entryway to the narrow halls in back, the entire building was abnormally quiet. One younger female voice called out to her as she rushed down the corridor, likely a dancer, but Christine ignored the girl and continued to her dressing room. She tightly shut and locked the door behind her. If she was alone, then she wished for silence and solitude. If there was a presence behind her mirror, then she certainly didn't want anyone else to come inside.

In those last minutes, she had decided that she wasn't ready to tell Raoul anything. She would either be spouting more lies or putting him in danger. And even if her friend was able to safely escape with her, she wasn't ready to go. She wanted her life at the opera house. And she was not ready to leave her angel.

No. She mustn't think like that any longer. There was no angel, at least not on earth. There was only Erik. She was not ready to leave Erik.

She idly stood in the dressing room for a moment, running a hand through her damp and matted hair. Her heartbeat took on a quicker rhythm as she waited. After a moment, she began to hum one of Marguerite's arias, her voice slowly growing in audibility, calling to him. She focused her eyes upon the mirror, now actively singing some of the words at a quiet volume but with deep focus, just as she had done while receiving lessons from her Angel of Music.

Feeling another's presence, Christine walked toward the glass. "Erik?" she softly asked, touching the mirror with the tips of her fingers. There was a brief period of silence.

"I expected you to have left by now." His voice was quiet. "I had thought the Siren was singing to me."

"The what?" She shook her head. "I did leave for a short while. And then I returned."

"Why?"

"Mamma Valerius was well. She was not as ill as I had imagined. And I thought that you would enjoy some company for the holidays." Christine received no response. She pressed her lips together and looked at the ground. "But if you prefer to be alone, then I will go. You must wish for time to work on your music."

"No," he hoarsely replied. "Do stay, Christine."

She glanced up and nodded. In the mirror, she could see that her mouth was still contorted with worry. Her eyes, though, held a bit more resolve. "You will have to open the mirror, Erik." The glass panel slowly spun around, revealing his formally-suited and painfully thin figure on the other side. He was not wearing his hat and cloak, which made her guess that he had rushed to the upper floors. A small smile formed on her lips as she stepped through and into the shadows. "Someday, you will have to teach me how to turn the glass around."

"And have you gallivanting through the cellars by yourself?" he scoffed as they began to walk forward. "You would not survive for an hour without Erik."

"I could find my own way down," she protested, grateful for the innocent banter. "I could go all the way to the lake."

He looked down at her, eyes glowing brightly in the dark. Then, the two yellow dots disappeared. She blinked in surprise as she realized that he had vanished. "Erik?" she softly called. Christine turned around, holding her hands out in front of her to avoid running into a wall. Tunnels were sprawled out in all directions, and she didn't even know if she could find her way back to the mirror entrance. "Erik?" She tripped over a rift in the ground but managed to steady herself.

Then, he was standing in front of her again. "Not even a minute!" he declared with a touch of humor in his voice.

"You scared me," she stated, her heart pounding quickly. Still, a soft laugh escaped her lips.

"Forgive me," he replied, affectionately brushing the tips of his fingers against her hair. "Come. We will now go together. Erik promises not to disappear." They were both silent as he led her the rest of the way down, her footsteps echoing against the cold stones. As always, Erik was completely silent in his descent. She lightly touched the upper part of his arm for support as they went down the steep steps. César was nowhere to be found because Erik had not expected her.

She noticed that there was contentment in her escort's eyes as he guided her to the boat, and he seemed less sorrowful than when he had taken her up that morning. _Had she subconsciously planned this return all along? _Christine wondered this as she tucked her feet beneath her skirts and held onto the tilting sides of the boat, waiting for the house by the lake to come into view.

She was extremely grateful that Erik had found a way to heat his underground home, for the temperature inside was warmer than that of the underground cellars. Tired from the journey, she sat upon the sofa in the drawing room to momentarily rest. Erik turned around and immediately knelt in front of her, eyes aglow, as he often did when she first arrived. "How long will you stay?" he asked, lightly clutching to the hem of her dress.

"Oh, Erik," she gently pled. "Please do not do that. Please stand up. Or…or sit beside me."

He obediently arose and sat on the opposite end of the sofa, leaning forward slightly with his bony hands outstretched toward her. "How long?"

"For a few days," she replied with a timid smile. "I may wish to visit my guardian around Christmas Day. But I will be back after the New Year, of course. Or perhaps I will see you during the masked ball."

"Yes," he eagerly replied. "I do plan on attending the lavish affair. You will meet me afterwards within your dressing room."

"Or perhaps I will meet you at the ball if you have decided to come." The thought somewhat intrigued her. With everyone in disguise, Erik could come out amongst the crowds. Of course, with the realistic mask, he was able to do so anyway. She realized that the thought was no longer as frightening.

Erik paused. "You will see me there, no doubt. All will be certain to see Erik on that night. But you may not wish to approach me."

She narrowed her eyes in confusion. "Oh?"

"Although…" Erik quickly continued. "If you truly wish to accompany me, perhaps I will alter my plans. For you. I had not planned on you doing so, you see…" He tapered off, a strange tone in his voice, as though he wasn't sure of her intentions.

"Well," she began. "Perhaps I will join you. There is plenty of time to think on it, though. We do not have to decide tonight."

"Yes," he agreed. "We must think only of now." He suddenly jumped to his feet. "I will keep you entertained for the entire time. Music, of course. You will sing for me. And I for you. And-Oh! Did you know that Erik was a magician, Christine? He has hundreds of tricks to show you. And-"

Feeling slightly overwhelmed, she arose to her feet and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. He ceased speaking and looked down upon it with wide eyes. "Or," she softly began. "Or we could go out some evenings. I did enjoy that."

He paused. "I did not arrange for a brougham. I did not expect you, you see." He looked down at her hand again. "But perhaps I can go-"

"Perhaps we could go for a walk together." She smiled at him.

His eyes dimmed, and he drew away from her, crossing his arms against his chest and turning around. "Do you journey here to torment me, Christine? Oh, as long as you stay, I do not mind. Kick the dog at your feet, if you wish. As long as you-"

"Erik…" She slowly approached him. "I am not trying to be cruel. I wish to do so again."

"As I explained to you, _my dear_, it was only pleasant with that mask. It will not be so any other way."

She took a deep breath and momentarily closed her eyes. "Then," she began, walking up directly behind him. "Then you shall wear that mask, Erik."

His bony shoulders tensed. "You claimed that it was not pleasant to you."

"Oh…" She waved her hand to the side. "I was just being silly, really. I was a bit frightened. You know how women become scared over foolish things, don't you, Erik? But I understand that it makes everything easier. And I will become used to it."

Truthfully, she was still somewhat wary of the strange mask. Now that she hadn't delivered the letter to Raoul and created a reason for hiding, though, she wasn't as afraid. Erik would go aboveground, and she would accompany him. Perhaps they would see other parts of Paris together, walk down the Champs-Élysées and see the fountains and…

And she realized that, for the first time, she was sharing in his hopes.

"Perhaps just when we go out, I could wear it." He slowly turned around and looked at her, studying her closely to see whether her words were true. "Only then."

She started to reply, but a high-pitched bell suddenly rang out into the air, startling her. Christine looked around for the source of the sound.

Erik's head abruptly turned. "A visitor," he muttered. "Have not I told him to stay away? Yes, I did. He should heed my warning, lest he wish to meet the Siren." Erik turned to look back at her, his eyes becoming softer again. "But perhaps if he sees you…"

"Someone is here?" she enquired. "That is what the sound means?"

"Yes," Erik grumbled. "Someone wishes to intrude on our company. But…" He reached out a hand toward her. "You will wait for me?"

"Of course."

"Erik will be quick," he replied, grabbing his cloak. As soon as he was gone, Christine sat down upon the sofa and took a deep breath, slowly sorting through what had transpired in those last few minutes.


	4. Chapter 4

Here's the last chapter! Finally! I hope you all enjoyed your holiday! Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews regarding this story. And, also, thanks to _Kryss LaByrn _for some inspiration regarding Erik's mask.

**Read and Review!!!**

Minutes later, Christine glanced up as a pair of voices came closer to the entrance of the underground home. One obviously belonged to Erik. The other voice was softer and deeper, with the slightest touch of a foreign accent.

"There have been occurrences above," stated the other man. "And more talk concerning the repeated disappearances of that girl. What exactly have you been doing with her for all of this time?"

"Nothing!" snapped Erik. "She came to me for the holidays! She came to see _me_! I had nothing to do with it."

"Just as you had nothing to do with the chandelier?"

"If you do not silence yourself on that matter…" Erik threatened.

"Is she in there now?" the visitor interrupted. They were right beside the door.

"Yes! And it would do you well to stay quiet about matters that are none of your concern." The door silently swang open, and both men walked inside. There was an angry glint in Erik's eyes that he normally did not have when solely in her company. The other man, whom she now saw was the Persian, appeared only weary, shadows circling his dark eyes and wrinkles in his grey dress suit.

"Good afternoon, Mademoiselle," the Persian greeted, curiously looking her over. "How are you?"

"I am fine," she replied, folding her hands together in her lap. "And yourself?"

"Very well, thank you." He took a seat in one of the leather armchairs, continuing to study her.

Erik stared at the Persian with his arms crossed, as though daring him to say something about the strange situation. After a moment, he returned to his place beside her on the sofa. "She is joining me for the holidays!" he proclaimed, all the while avoiding her gaze. "That is why she is here right now."

He nodded. "Is this true?"

Christine nodded back, feeling a bit confused. "Yes. My guardian was not in need of me, and so I returned to stay with Erik. I thought he might enjoy the company."

"I see."

"Yes," stated Erik. "She returned to me because she wanted to. Just as I said. Now you can leave."

"But I just arrived," he replied. "And it was a long journey to come down these stairs. Allow an old man to rest." He ignored Erik's glare and turned back to Christine. "Do you come here often?"

"Yes. Well, for the past few weeks, I have been visiting." She suddenly understood why the Persian was so curious. He knew that something was wrong. What was a young girl such as herself doing in the sewers of Paris, especially by choice? Honestly, she still didn't even know the answer to that.

"And you enjoy yourself?" He leaned forward slightly. Erik now turned to look at her for the first time since the Persian had arrived. The yellow eyes appeared almost panicked.

"Yes," she awkwardly replied. "We sing together often. He helps me with my performances. And…and we went for a walk the other evening. I did enjoy that." She smiled.

"A walk?" The Persian's eyes widened in surprised.

"Yes," Erik nearly hissed. "A walk through the city. Just like everybody else does. Do you not go for walks, Daroga?"

"I…" He momentarily stuttered. "I do. Often." There was a short silence. Christine's gaze fell to the ground. The Persian cleared his throat. "Actually, there is a reason for my visit. I believe that you have a book of mine, Erik. It is brown and leather-bound. The pages contain some older, colored maps of my home country. You…permanently borrowed it, I believe."

Erik narrowed his eyes. "If I retrieve it for you, you will leave…permanently?"

"Yes. I will be on my way."

Erik arose from the sofa and slowly backed away, eyeing the Persian suspiciously. After glancing at Christine one time, he then whirled around and disappeared from the room.

The Persian man stared after him for a moment, before turning back to Christine and leaning forward. "There is a young man who often searches for you upstairs," he whispered. He paused when he received no response. "Do you wish me to deliver any news of yourself to him?"

Christine hesitated. Another opportunity was presenting itself to involve Raoul. She also had the feeling that this strange foreign man would be willing to help her if she wanted to escape. Still, she realized that she was not ready do to so. She wanted to enjoy her holiday with Erik, without having to think about lies and deception. She wanted to see what the next few days, even the next evening, would bring. "No, thank you," she finally replied. "Raoul knows that I am quite busy with my singing. He will just have to understand, I fear." She smiled.

"Are you for certain?" The Persian eyed her closely. "He is a very handsome lad. A Vicomte, I believe." He leaned in even closer, his voice nearly inaudible. "_He_ will not find out, if you wish me to deliver a message."

"Yes. Of course I am for certain. I have told Raoul all that he needs to know."

The Persian sat there with his mouth slightly agape, before nodding and drawing away from her. "Very well, then. I will tell him nothing." He softly chuckled. "We would not want him running down here by himself, would we? The poor boy would get lost."

"Heavens, no!" she exclaimed as dozens of unpleasant possibilities swirled through her mind. "Please tell him nothing of my whereabouts!"

She didn't know whether Erik had heard them speaking, but he appeared calm and disinterested when he reentered. "Here it is." He thrust the brown book at the Persian. "Now leave."

"Thank you. It was owned by my father." The Persian took the book and gazed over the cover with satisfaction. "Have a good afternoon." He paused and looked at her one last time with uncertainty. "You, too, Mademoiselle."

Christine curiously stared after him as he went out the door. Erik glared until he was gone.

"Did he upset you with his foolish questions?" asked Erik, coming quickly to stand by her side. His eyes had softened somewhat. "He does not understand that I…But you. You did come here because you wished to. Erik did not force you to!" He appeared momentarily confused, as though he wasn't sure what the truth really was.

"Yes." She nodded and smiled. "I did come by myself. He simply did not realize that."

Erik's shoulders relaxed. "Yes. Yes, you did. You sang to me from the mirror. Erik did not sing to you this time."

"Who exactly was he?" she hesitantly enquired. "I see him sometimes upstairs. The dancers say that he has the 'evil eye,' although that is nonsense, I am sure."

Erik narrowed his eyes, and she was certain that there was a scowl on his withered lips. "He is no one important. Someone from many years ago. And now he is an annoyance."

"He seemed rather kind. How do you know him?"

Erik was quiet for a moment. "I will tell you another day. But not now. Now is not a good time."

"Oh." She decided not to prod anymore. "That is fine, Erik." He just stared down at her, seeming to enjoy their close proximity. "Perhaps we can have a few songs before the evening?" Music often calmed his nerves, especially if she was the one singing.

He eagerly nodded. "Yes. We still have hours before our outing. And….You will still stay over the holiday? That vile busybody did not sway you? You should not listen to him, Christine. He merely wishes for Erik to live in eternal misery as penance for long ago."

"Of course he did not sway me." Her heart clenched at the sight of his desperate eyes, and she gently took his arm. "Let us sing for a while."

* * *

Several hours later, Christine again found herself waiting in the drawing room for Erik to fix the mask onto his face. They had sung at the organ for much of the afternoon, although Christine's mind would often wander elsewhere. Erik had commented that her voice was more relaxed. She had quickly apologized and attempted to correct her posture. 

"No!" he had exclaimed, causing her to jump slightly. "Your voice is better for it today, really." He had looked up at her. "You always sing as though in a great tragedy. But not today. Even Desdemona sounded rather joyful!" He chuckled.

"Oh." She nibbled on her lip. "I suppose it is just the holiday that puts me in good spirits," she had finally replied. "I do not know what else it could be."

"Yes. The holiday," Erik had vaguely repeated, before excusing himself to put on the other mask. He claimed that it would take longer this time, as he had not been prepared for her visit and had not readied the adhesive. He had disappeared from the room within an instant, leaving her to exit his chambers and saunter over to the sofa. At least the mask would not shock her this time. Anxiety and curiosity filled her to think of Erik in the realistic mask again, to think of walking down the streets of Paris with him on a regular basis. Christine prayed that she would not have the same negative reaction to it.

She was turned in the direction of the short hallway, and so his silent entrance did not startle her. Erik emerged and stood with his arms stiffly at his sides, eyes devoid of their prior excitement, awaiting her response. She hesitated. The false face was staring at her again. She studied it for a moment, this mask of normalcy, both a present and a wrapping. The yellow eyes pled with her, always contrasting with the composed and indifferent expression on the mouth. Still, no evening passerby would ever notice. Only she would know the truth. But to him, she was the only one that mattered.

Christine finally smiled and spoke. "Is it very comfortable?" she asked, coming closer.

"No," he replied, his words slightly muffled. She couldn't tell if he was lying. "Is it still unpleasant to you?"

"As I said, I was just being silly. It is fine, Erik."

"As a face should look?"

"Of course." She slowly reached up and touched the false cheek, finding the material unnaturally warm beneath her fingertips. Erik remained frozen. "It appears a bit uncomfortable. It is good that you will only wear it when we go out." He nodded in agreement, and she dashed out to retrieve her scarf and gloves. When Christine reentered, she saw that his bony hands were tightly clasped together and that he was shifting from foot to foot, a bright gleam in his eyes. A tiny smile formed on her mouth, and she remained out of his view for a moment, watching him in his uncontained joy.

Upon seeing her, he immediately stilled his motions and stood up straight. She walked forward, her lips still slightly turned upward, and they silently left the little home together. Neither spoke until they had walked up the stairs and through the side entrance, before beginning their journey into the crowded city. Christine inhaled the cold air and allowed her hood to fall back, letting the wind brush against her face and tousle her hair.

"It is good to do this again," he stated. "I had thought that I never would."

She glanced up with disbelief. "All because of what I said?"

"It was only for you." He gestured to the mask. "Not for Erik. He is used to the eyes of others…and the shadows. But you are not. All eyes fall upon you only when you sing, and then with only appreciation."

"They only do so because of you," she murmured, looking at the patterns in the snow. She didn't know if he had heard her.

They walked past the shops, and she was greeted by the occasional smell of baked bread or sweets. She relaxed and took delight in the sights and sounds, as she had always done with Mamma Valerius and her father. The snow had stopped falling, but there was still a thick, white covering that remained along the ground and roads. Most people were careful to walk slowly over the icy streets, many of them carrying boxes and bags in a last attempt to purchase the perfect gifts for loved ones. A little boy with a blue stocking cap and bright red cheeks suddenly slid on a patch of ice, falling right at Christine's feet. She automatically knelt to grab the sleeve of his woolen coat and pull him up from the frozen ground.

"Sorry, Madame! Monsieur." He dusted off his knees, picked up a small box that had fallen into the snow, and rushed away. Christine watched his figure fade off into the crowds.

"He was merely unaware," stated Erik in a soft voice. She didn't know if he referred to the mask or the fact that she was unwed.

"Oh! It is no matter," she said with a laugh. She reached out and clasped onto his gloved hand, suddenly feeling lighthearted. "I only hope that he stops running on the ice." Christine nearly tugged Erik forward as she began walking. "Is something wrong?" she enquired, looking backwards.

"No," he sharply replied, staring down at their entwined fingers with disbelief, before taking a long step and walking beside her. They passed by a shop that sold objects carved from wood, including furniture, birdhouses, and small ornaments. They also had little silver bells and berry-covered wreaths for the holidays. "Do you want something in that shop?" he eagerly enquired, reaching into his suit pocket. "Of course you do. You will not take your eyes off the window. Let Erik get it for you. Whatever you wish."

"Well, I…" She clasped his hand for a moment. "Let me just run inside and buy a couple of things. I will be back in a moment."

"You do not want me to come inside with you?"

"Oh, Erik. It is not that at all. I just wish to surprise you."

He looked down with wary eyes but handed her the francs, clearly unsure of her intentions. "Very well. I will wait. "

"Thank you! I will be very quick!" She ran inside the brightly-lit store, dodging her way through the crowds of people, and grabbed several ready-made items. After five minutes of waiting in a long and noisy line, she strolled back outside into the cold. Glancing around, she was unable to see her companion. Finally, she found him standing in the shadows with his arms crossed. "Erik! You are practically hidden."

"A habit, I suppose." He looked at the brown sack in her hands. "What did you purchase for yourself?"

"Well," she began, reaching inside and grabbing a little bell. "If I am to stay with you for the holidays, I would like to have a few decorations." She pulled out a small, green wreath and a few red velvet ribbons.

Erik tilted his head. "I do not decorate for the holidays."

"Oh." Christine frowned and quickly began to put the objects back into the sack, suddenly feeling a little ridiculous….childish. "I am sorry. I had forgotten that you were not fond of this time of year. If it bothers you, then I will not. I just thought-"

"No! No! We will, if it pleases you. You may do as you wish in my home."

"Just a few decorations, perhaps. Just to…" She searched for the right words. "To mark the occasion." He nodded, his gloved hand slightly coming forward in the obvious hope that she would take it again. She did. They turned and began to walk in the opposite direction, silently coming to an agreement that it was time to return. The air was especially cold. People continued to pass by them, unaware of any oddities within their midst. Christine nearly wished that they could go to a cozy flat or home like any other couple or family, rather than face the darker reality of the strange house by the lake with its many mysterious doors and rooms. But couldn't reality change? Hadn't Erik been the one to say that he wanted an ordinary home?

"You do enjoy going out," he stated, watching her as she happily gazed around the city. "And Erik has kept you from doing so because he could not go with you. And he was selfish because he wanted you with _him_. But this is better now, no?"

"Yes." She smiled. "It is better! We shall go often. It will be lovely in the summer…with the warmer evenings." She brushed a stray tear from her cheek, nearly unable to feel it in the icy and moist air. The cold was beginning to seep through her thick layers of clothing, and her nose was numb. She briefly released Erik's hand to pull the hood back over her head. Over the sound of voices and trotting horses, she thought that she heard him humming to himself.

As soon as they arrived at the side entrance of the opera house, Erik dodged inside and pressed his fingers to his face. "I wish to take it off immediately. I erred with the adhesive. Do not worry, though. My other mask is with me."

She shook her head and frowned. "It is very uncomfortable, isn't it? I wish you would not wear it for your own sake."

"No. It is fine. Perfectly bearable. I would not take away your gift." He slowly began to peel it off.

"But I do not-"

"I am fine!" He sighed and softened his voice. "I would give you anything. Do anything. Erik would for you. It is fine."

Several tears gathered in her eyes. "I know, Erik."

He had taken the realistic mask off and was now holding up the familiar black one, his back still toward her. A sudden feeling of tenderness washed over her, warming her numb nose and frozen cheeks, making her heart beat quicker. Coming up behind him, she stood on the tips of her toes and grasped onto his shoulders. Bending her neck to the side, she stretched around and softly kissed the shriveled and sallow flesh of his cheek. Her lips lingered there for several seconds. His skin was cold and dry, and it was like pressing her lips against stone.

"Oh!" he choked, nearly turning around to face her. As she slowly realized what had occurred, she released his shoulders and backed up several steps. "Why?" He tied the black mask on before he turned around completely. "_Why_?"

"I…"

"Christine! May Erik do the same?" he asked before she could answer, his tenor voice shaking. "You may close your eyes, but I will only reveal my mouth to you. And I swear-"

"Yes," she quickly replied, before he descended into a self-deprecating panic. "You may, Erik. You may."

She didn't close her eyes. He raised the bottom portion of the black mask, revealing the thin lines of his white lips. She swallowed as he pressed them against her forehead, drew back, and then pressed them to her right temple. Again, they were very cold…not grotesque, just soft and frigid. Erik sighed as he drew back, quickly pulling the mask down over his mouth. His fingers brushed against her hair. "Why?" he asked again, his voice hoarse.

"Well…" She hesitated, not having a reason. She had simply wished to do so. "It was for Christmas, no?"

"For Christmas," he repeated, a tremor still in his voice. "And we will do so again next Christmas?"

She laughed and blushed. "Perhaps before then, Erik. Perhaps on New Year's Eve?" He just stared at her. "At the masked ball?"

He wasn't consoled by that. "But you will be with Erik next Christmas?"

She paused. The present had been so confusing as of late, that there was little time to think of the distant future. "I imagine that I will be," Christine softly replied, looking at the grey floor.

"Does that make you unhappy?" She looked up again in surprise. Every part of his emaciated body was still. There was a very odd glint in his eyes, and Christine suddenly had the strangest feeling that it could all end right there. For the first time, she felt brave enough to answer that question honestly. And she knew that he wanted an honest answer.

She thought ahead to one year, another winter, spring, summer, and fall. The thought of him gone was so much worse than anything else. There was still some fear, but it was not as horrible as the thought of being without him. No, she would not leave him. "No. It does not make me unhappy at all."

"Good," he whispered.

She started to turn around with him and head for the stone steps. Then, she paused. "Oh! One moment. I wish to do something." Erik appeared startled as she rushed back to the entrance but reluctantly released her hand. Reaching into her dress pocket, she grabbed a handful of the tiny pieces of paper. Clasping them in her palm, she stepped back outside and thrust her hand upwards, releasing the fragments of the letter into the wind. She watched as the white pieces blended in with the flurries that were now falling, swirling together before flying off into the darkness. They would be far too scattered for anyone to ever piece them back together.

"What was _that_?" Erik asked, curiously glancing upwards.

She could have lied, but she didn't. Not this time. "Oh, Erik." She turned to face him, gently taking both of his hands. "Please do not ask me. It is…well…a sort of gift to you. Nothing more."

He looked down at her with utter adoration. "It seems we have both given odd gifts this year."

"Yes," she said, the corners of her lips twitching upwards. "I suppose so." A feeling of warmth encased her heart and flowed through her veins. And maybe she didn't know _all _the answers that evening, but she felt lighthearted at that moment. The coming year no longer frightened her, nor did the hope in her companion's eyes.

They journeyed back to the little underground house. Perhaps it wasn't really an ordinary home, with its false bottom and mysterious rooms. But, like with any other house, they could always open the door and go aboveground for an evening stroll, just like any other couple.

And someday, if all went well, Christine guessed that they would leave that house by the lake.

Together.

_Fin_


End file.
